As Qin Dahai dished out a bowl of rice for Qin Feng, he rambled on, "It's your dad who's getting old. Look, my hair has a lot more gray in it."
Qin Feng looked at the indeed graying hairs at his father's temples, and a pang of sorrow tugged at his heart.
Although Martial Dao cultivation could extend one's life, his father had started too late and was held back by the Mental Power threshold. In the end, the ravages of time had still crept up on him silently.
"Dad, you're not old. A Fifth-level Martial Artist is considered a master in the Qiming Metropolitan Area."
Qin Feng picked up a glistening piece of fatty meat and put it in his mouth. The familiar taste exploded on his palate, making him squint his eyes in bliss.
"Hah, what master? It's just an empty title."
Qin Dahai waved his hand dismissively and poured himself a glass of wine. "Compared to you, my little bit of strength is nothing. By the way, how long are you planning to stay this time?"
